The East Wind
by PlzDontShootMeh
Summary: CSAT has deployed the fearsome East Wind Device, and it has teleported the entire Altis Archipelago to another world along with the NATO forces deployed there.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer, I don't own shit.

For those unfamiliar with Arma 3's story, here's a quick briefing about the archipelago and the factions involved. The island of Altis is a Mediterranean island off the eastern coast of Sicily. Altis is a relativity small island clocking-in at 270km2; however, Altis is the big brother of the archipelago, with Stratis being the little one, only being 20km2. Civil war swamps the little island nation, starting after the 2025 coup by the AAF (Altis Armed Forces), the AAF have been in a bloody civil war for a decade, with NATO and CSAT arriving as peacekeeping forces in the early 2030s.

NATO:

Decades of economic and political turbulence across member states has left NATO weakened and facing a strategic paradigm shift. With CSAT political and military influence dominating from the Pacific to the Mediterranean, NATO seeks to consolidate their diminished forces around traditional strongholds.

CSAT:

Formed at the apex of the Canton Protocol summits, this strategic alliance of states is built upon the goals of mutual defence, expanded global influence, and sustained economic growth. Set against the context of foundering economies and civil unrest across the west, CSAT has risen in prominence over the last decade. Investment in shared civil and military technology and the aggressive pursuit of opportunities and partnerships throughout Asia, South America and North Africa has led to a sharp increase in strategic tension across the globe, as traditional spheres of power and influence are encroached upon. Recently partnering with the government of The Republic of Altis and Stratis.

The AAF and CSAT, launched a surprise attack on the US-led peacekeeping forces forcing the survivors of the extensive attack to fight with the FIA, (the Freedom and Independence Alliance.) while cutting off communications to the outside world. After a month and a bit of lack of communication from the Taskforce stationed on Stratis, NATO launched a counter attack against the AAF and its allies, capturing Stratis and its all-important airbase and securing a beachhead on Altis; however, the next day after a large bombardment by artillery and clearing of CSAT and AAF AAA sites around the Airport and cooperation by the FIA in the attack, the airport was secured and in the evening the NATO forces moved onto the capital forcing the remaining AAF and CSAT forces into the northern peninsula.

 _30 Miles off the coast of Altis, USS Freedom, 0800 hours, 2035 / 08 / 10._

"As you know, the Invasion of Altis is well underway; however, CSAT has called in their heavy, long range interceptors and bombers to attack our forces. We believe that their main target is the Altis International airport, where our CAS is. If they hit it, our entire operation would be put in risk. Our job is to secure the airspace and get air superiority. Understood?"

"Yes Sir!" the two pilots replied

The two pilots sitting in front of their commander, Hornet One and Hornet 2 or known officially as 2nd Lt Jeff Ryan and 1st Lt Chris Campbell or better known as 'Rocket' and 'Christy'. Jeff, being a much younger pilot having typical Marine brown hair, bald as a bowling ball; while Chris, being a Veteran of Korea and the anti-pirate operations off the Somali coast, had shaggier black hair and having an inch over Jeff.

"Right." their commander said, Dylan Dyson, an Iraq Vet, in his 50s with not so subtle greying hair. "Get kitted up, Eagle flight is doing CAP now and will be able to asset if things go south."

As the quick briefing was over, the pair kitted up and walked through the USS Freedom's massive hanger.

The Aircraft Carrier "USS Freedom" (CVN-81) - The USS Freedom is the third ship of its class and the 4th ship with the name "Freedom". Carrying hull designation CVN-81, the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier serves as a main operating base for NATO. The USS Freedom can carry various fixed wing aircraft and helicopters on board that can facilitate almost every support role. With a length of 337 meters and width of 105 meters, this is one of the largest ships ever built.

The USS Freedom is armed with various autonomous defensive weapon systems such as the; Praetorian 1C CWIS - Supplied by 20mm Vulcan rounds, the Praetorian CWIS was designed to protect the NATO navy from any possible aerial threat in close range and the k-49 Spartan SAM & Mk-21 Centurion SAM - The Spartan Surface to Air Missile system and the Centurion Surface to Air Missile system were designed to protect the NATO navy from any possible aerial treat. Armed with 2 IR guided short range Anti Air missiles and 8 radar guided medium range Anti Air missiles, these three systems are usually deployed in tandem with her escort's firepower to deny the enemy any chance to damage her.

They continued up to the deck, up to their aircraft; F/A 181 II Black Wasps. The F/A-181 Black Wasp II is a fifth-generation, single-seat, twin-engine, all-weather tactical fighter jet. The aircraft was designed primarily as an air-superiority fighter, but also has ground attack capabilities. Its additional external hard points enable the aircraft to carry a wide variety of weapons configurations from JDAMs to AMRAAMs. The Black Wasp is fitted with the required equipment for carrier operations. It's often called a mixed breed between the original Hornet and the F-22.

XXX

'There's a series of events, feeling almost ritualistic, that precede the shot.' Chris thought to himself as he strapped himself in ready for take-off.

All strapped in he turned his head to see Jeff, His plane captain sometimes helping him strap, giving a subtle knight-squire flavour.

Once the Air Boss calls away starts, the two pilots fire up their engines and begin the system alignments and checks. Throughout the process, there's a slow build-up of tension. In the daytime, it's a rising exhilaration,

'It's like you're gonna have triple chocolate cake with Jennifer Lawrence and Neil DeGrasse Tyson.' Chris once again thought 'at night, of course, it's exciting, but more like you've been called into the boss's office and you don't know why.'

The pilots finally taxied up to the catapult.

'It's like stepping onto the field in a big game. The butterflies in your stomach start doing t'ai chi. Essentially, the nerves have wrapped so tight they're lose again. The training and professionalism take over and the enthusiasm and uneasiness sit in the closet babbling about how Starbucks should market iced coffee with cream soda.' Chris Continued 'I really need to stop making these really weird comparisons.'

"Hornet 2, you set?"

He watched as the deck crew wave their arms about, casting their collective spell that will magically launch his aircraft off the deck. His arms flail about weaving your counter spell, aimed at getting the plane more specifically into the sky, arms flying around the cockpit, dropping flaps and checking stabs.

"Alright, let's do this." Hornet 2 replied

"Freeway, this is Hornet flight, we're ready on the safe-shots, over."

"Hornet 1, Hornet 2, you're cleared for take-off."

The shooter touches the deck, his helper punches the button, and Chris has an elephant suddenly backing frantically, noisily into him, followed by more successive elephants backing into _him_ as he rockets down the track. Not only is his speed increasing, the acceleration is, too, pushing him harder and harder into the seat.

A lot of things are happening now. That low roar of the engines is replaced by a sudden, increasing cacophony: escaping steam, whining metal, high shrieks from whirling pulleys; However, all these sounds are drowned out by the relentless shriek of the two Pratt and Whitney F119-PW-100 turbofans both producing 35,000 lbf or 165 kNs with afterburner deployed.

His vision was also playing havoc with things. From the eagle vision he's used to, only a small circle of clarity exists before him, all the rest being thrown into a great Photoshop velocity blur. And what's in front of him is the end of the deck. And it's surging toward him in a rush.

Each of these last 30 minutes have been spent in anticipation of this crescendo, but in the space of a microsecond, the sound drops to a distant hum, the forces shoving him back evaporate, the ship disappears, and he's left with this feeling of hanging weightless, 80 feet over the sea; he scans his engine instruments to make sure time hasn't stopped; Chris makes sure he's still pointing up, because there is no outside reference; and he needs to restart his heart, because his brain's going to need more oxygen soon.

He pulled the stick up gently, the craft rocks gently as he switches hands to pull up the gear.

"Hornet 2's up. Joining on lead" Jeff reported

Making sure his heart is back in order, Chris replied "Hornet 1 copies. Climbing to 1500. Heading 050. Speed 720. Burn to intercept." having a look at the LED screen that displayed, the Wasp's weapons and instruments.

The Flight wasn't long, it didn't take long for the two aircraft to reach the AO. The AO

"Two, you see anything?" Chris asked his wingman, flicking on radar.

"Negative, Radar's clean."

"Roger, stay sharp. Keep your eyes out." He replied, scrutinising this radar screen. The Wasp's Radar set was sophisticated, it could pick out a sparrow from 16km away and hit it with a sparrow.

"The fuck?"

"All Forces, this is Freeway, we've had another earthquake, wait what the fuc-"

The entirety of Altis was covered in a blinding light.

And as soon as the light had appeared, it disappeared.

The two pilots were surprised that they were alive, let alone flying.

"Hornet 2, you still up?"

"Affirm Chris… what the fuck just happened?" Jeff groaned.

"Dunno Jeff." Chris replied "Freeway, this is Hornet Flight… we're, uh, we're up."

"Roger that, Hornet, we've got no idea what just happened. We've lost comms with NATO Command… erm-"

Both pilots could hear one of the members of the Freedom's CiC in the background say "What th-, where did they come from?"

"This is Freeway. Hornet Flight, we've got a gaggle, bearing 165, Altitude 13000, Speed 250. Burn to contact, bearing 093 clear to climb, the sky is yours. "

'250? That's too slow for a jet, could be a Prop aircraft, maybe a Marchetti... maybe a Texan II, wait...' Chris thought scrutinising his radar, the contacts were tiny, too small for an aircraft, even a single prop,

"Jeff, you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah… too slow for a turbojet and too small for one anyway."

"Agreed."

"Roger that, Freeway, we're on the way."

XXX

Chris looked at the Radar on his HUD, the unknowns were only 2 clicks out.

Both aircraft broke through the thick cloud cover that was above 13000 feet.

"What." Both pilots uttered at the same time.

"What?" Freeway said

"There's… there's…"

"H-h-hornet-2 here… there's... girls..."

"What… what do you mean?

"Sending Video Feed..."

XXX

A collective of gasps came from the Freedom's CiC as both Hornet Pilot's video came in. most of the staff on duty, trying to get their equipment working.

Despite the cloud and distance, the HD cameras clearly picked out a group of girls with odd looking machines on their legs, they resembled WW2 aircraft.

"Get Admiral Grady up here now!" The CiC officer ordered the ETO.

"Gentlemen..." A voice came through, instantly recognisable to the pilots as Admiral Grady the commander of the Freedom's battle group. "We need you to contact these… ladies. Currently we can't connect to Command or our Satellite Network, Intel suggests some device that CSAT has developed, in any case we need you to ward these... people off, this is a Warzone, engage if hostile."

"'Eye, sir."

XXX

The two F/A 181s screamed in at half of the speed of sound, coming in from the sun and swooping down just below the formation of girls.

Just as Chris gently pulled the stick back, he was met with a couple violent THUDS as rounds ricochet off his Wasp's hide and tracers fly above his head.

Under his mask, Chris grinned like a motherfucker, "Well" he said to his wingman "Time to bag some killz!"

'Odds are, at this low speed we're going to be turning fighting,' Chris thinks, 'We came in at such a slow speed and we're too close for a missile shot...'

After a second more of contemplation, Chris talks "Hornet two, stick to me like glue." Today was the perfect day to do the manoeuvre Chris was planning to do, there was more cloud cover above 13000 feet at around 15000 feet meaning he and Jeff would come in on their attack basically undetected.

Pulling the stick right against his stomach, Chris pushed his throttle a little past 100% initiating the afterburner and is instantly pushed back in his seat as several thousand pounds of thrust rocketed him upwards.

14000 feet, 15000, 16000,

Upon reaching 17000, he throttled back and let gravity do its work, slowly the big Wasp heeled over and plunged towards earth, gravity pulling the aircraft into a steep dive and as the two aircraft broke through the higher cloud cover the unknowns had tuned and climbed above the position where the two F/A 181s had begun their zoom climb, 'The formation leader probably thinking that no pilot would risk a straight dive down to attack.'

'Too bad the bitch is fighting Black Wasps'

"GUNS, GUNS, GUNS."

Usually when using this manoeuvre, you would fire a missile when in range during the dive; however, Chris thought that was boring, and went with the Cannon. The M61A2 Vulcan Cannon was first designed in 1946 and was close to being a century old, but much like the wheel, sliced bread and the M1911, it was timeless. Capable of firing 6000 rounds at minute it had served the US and its allies since 1959, used in everything from the F-4 Phantom to the F-22, it was a fearsome weapon. You would also usually put your throttles back to 100% when in the dive, but Chris kept his back to idle, making sure the pair fell on the enemy formation while making as little noise as possible, well as less noise as possible considering both aircraft weighted around 25 tons with combat load.

Chris aimed for the leader of the formation, a redhead wearing olive green, waiting until the woman was within 1500 feet before thumbing the cannon stud, the delicious BRRRT of the M61 firing 100 rounds a second. One of the odd features of the Black Wasp was its lack of a reflector sight, the actual sight was built in to the Pilot's helmet, but the fact it told Chris exactly where to aim.

Chris was surprised that suddenly what could only be described as a bright blue shield inscribed with runes appeared to block the rounds but that was swiftly shattered by the brute force of the many 20mm SAPHEI shells smashing into it, the rounds that got through, ripped through one of the machines on her leg, immediately producing nasty black smoke.

The two F/A 181s screamed past the enemy formation at damn near the speed of sound and after another 1000 feet of diving both pilots pulled their sticks back and Chris' vision blacked and then tinted red as the G forces slammed him into his seat, draining blood from his head to his feet. The sudden scream of the onboard the on-board computer shouting, "Over G, Over G, Over G-"

"AH SHUT BITCH."

XXX

"Minna!" Sakamoto screamed as the Karlsland Witch was hit by the Neuroi's 'laser' beam from above; however, there was difference on how the 'beam' hit, instead of the *FUSSH* of a laser beam there was the Clink and Clank of kinetic rounds hitting their target and in that instant, she *knew* that she wasn't fighting Neuroi. Neuroi don't use cannons, but humans do.

Mio lifted her eye patch to get a better look at the aircraft as the other witches in her Finger four made sure Minna was alright, they were sleek, they had double rudders with rockets attached to pylons on their wings and on their fuselage, was written VFMA-314.

"Marines." Sakamoto muttered "Liberion Marines."

"Major Sakamoto," Sanya called "Enemy Neuroi Below us."

XXX

"Jesus fucking Christ, fucking girls with fucking WW2 aircraft on their legs that can carry fucking LMGs and HMGs like fucking toys." Chris swore horribly "What's fucking next? A flying Submarine?"

"erm-"

"Fuck me" Chris growled "Hornet-2, BREAK!" Hornet 2 broke left while Chris broke right as a 500m Submarine appeared out of the clouds, to Chris it looked like a Virginia class, with a smooth boot shaped conning tower.

However, Chris' attention was required elsewhere as his entire body becoming around 10 times as heavy as he suffers 10 times the earth's gravity, blood rushes from his brain to his feet, at 10g not even the G-suit, he starts breathing rapidly, the exhalation and inspiration every 3-4 seconds maintains oxygen content and decreases carbon dioxide in his blood, while also relieving increased pressure of the g forces on his chest, and allowing his heart to refill with blood and he starts to flex his legs, Flexion of skeletal muscles of legs and abdomen. This step increases the pressure in his chest and displaces blood away from these contracted muscles into the arms, chest, and brain.

XXX

"Fuck." I growled, Me and the Kid were split up, I pulled the stick up to climb a bit more, I was currently at 15000 feet, the same level that the women were at. I continue climbing up to 16000, all the cloud cover that was previously there was gone, none where to hide this time.

Suddenly there was an other-worldly groan that originated from the giant submarine as it released what seemed to be parasite fighters, there was little ones and big ones.

Everything below me turned into a massive fur-ball, as the unknown women engaged the giant submarine, I began looking for my wingman.

After a minute or so of searching, I saw him down low joining on the F-22s of Eagle flight, good reinforcements, I called him on the radio, "Hornet-2 come in," No response "Hornet-2 come in!"

Dammit, they must be jamming our comms, that would also explain why I haven't heard from the Freedom in a while.'

I rolled over, getting a better look at the massive cluster-fuck below, the women did seem to be winning; however, tracking the tell-tale signs of battle damage, (e.g. smoke 'n shit) and find the redhead I shot at earlier, chased by 3 of the big shits that were ejected from the giant sub. I feel a pang of guilt shoot through me; however that's quickly extinguished by the flare anger, those shits are trying to steal my kill!

"HEY" I shout to no-one particular "THAT'S MY KILL."

I dive into the fur-ball, rolling back over during the dive, put my radar on full blast, giving me a 360-degree view of the battlespace, while hopefully making the units chasing the redhead notice me and engage me instead, my idea being that if they can make a Sub fly, they can home in on my Radar and distracting them from the redhead.

Two of them pull of her and head towards, and I ready to pull off a Totally Aggressive attack.

To carry out a Totally Aggressive attack on two opponents is always exciting, but it's also very dangerous. History, however, is full of successful one-on-two accounts, so if the right opportunity presents itself, I don't hesitate. To aggressively attack two opponents, your bombs should be gone, I don't have any, so check that off the list. You should have plenty of fuel, I have around ¾ of a tank and at least two AIM9 Sidewinders and two AMRAAMs, My Wasp was loaded up for Air interception, so I have 6 AIM9s (4 on the two outside Pylons and 2 inside the Wasp itself) and around 10 AMRAAMs (4 again on the inside Pylons and 6 inside the Wasp). Fire off a AMRAAM at one opponent to keep him busy for a minute or so, I do this, the AMRAAM releases from the pylon and a moment later, the rocket motor ignites, rearing away at the 'aircraft' I'd targeted, the roar accompanied by a "Fox-3" from me.

I pull around to head on enemy aircraft #2. I'll certainly have to dodge missiles here, so I keep an eye out, but I don't, no I am facing fucking lasers, this succeeds at spooking me as I and the enemy, we scream past each other, I cut power and try to out-turn my opponent for a gun shot.

I keep an eye on the AMRAAM that's chasing target #1. If the missile hits or runs out of fuel, I'll fire a Sidewinder at #2. If the AMRAAM I first shot misses and the Sidewinder shot I'll shoot if it does miss #2 misses as well, I'll break off the attack, disengage and build up some airspeed; then I'll repeat this procedure until one of the targets goes down, then move in for a one-on-one attack.

But the AMRAAM doesn't miss, the big black stupid bastard, just turns to intercept me and gets slammed into by the missile, ripping it to shreds, this is accompanied by the satisfying disappearing of it's blip from my Radar scope.

I continue with my turn fight with the enemy deploying my flaps 'n stabs, airbrake deployed, slowing me down put letting me all the better, slowly my HUD's gun reticule floated over the fucker's nose and I fire. The M61A2's roar accompanied by the shattering of the enemy. Continuing the turn, I draw a bead on the last enemy pursuing the redhead, I'm too close for an AMRAAM, but in almost perfect range for a Sidewinder, the infrared missile locks on quickly and rockets off the rail and slams into the enemy with little effort used in tracking.

"Shit." I muttered, I had lost visual of the Redhead.

She appeared at my wing.

Good, she understands.

We either die apart or live together. Someone who was more articulate than me would have said something like, "We would either fall divided or stand united."; however, I am a Fighter Pilot and Marine which means that I am not good with words… or subtlety for that matter.

Having a wingman (In this case wingwoman) in a fur-ball is crucial, without a partner to cover your back, you'll be singled out and pick apart by enemy aircraft. Plus, an extra pair of hands and eyes here is very helpful.

I flip over the paper containing the weather report and some notes I'd made during the briefing on my kneeboard, showing the blank side of the paper, and fish out my Biro from one the Flight pockets from my, the boys from Boeing gave them away by the bushel when they introduced the F/A 181 to the USMC and USN. I write "RADIO FREQ 253.0" onto it on and shove it up to the cockpit window while wiggling my wings to get her attention, hopefully I can contact her, comms may be blocked but hopefully considering there's such a short range between us that that won't matter.

She nodded and a moment later I get a response.

"Pilot, state your, Name, rank, Service, Serial Number and Airframe."

I do so, first impressions are everything; well, I did shoot at her, so first impressions probably weren't that good.

"1st Lt Chris Campbell, USMC, 2520500470, F/A 181 Black Wasp. I substituted the Serial Number for my DOD No. considering we haven't used Serial Numbers since 1974.

"Alright Lt, follow me. I'm Wing Commander Wilcke, after this engagement, follow us back to our base and we'll have a chat about the friendly fire incident..." The Wing Commander laced the end of her sentence with venom.

"Roger." I growled, the bitch had shot first, _she_ started it.

Never the less, she rolled up and over me, taking pole position in our makeshift flight.

"Fuck." I said over the radio, "Enemy behind us."

"Roger." Wilcke replied, "let's start a Defensive Spiral."

An enemy aircraft had closed to within firing distance behind us but luckily we had at least 15,000 feet of altitude to play, the goals of a Defensive Spiral are that you want to: (a) disrupt the enemy's aim, (b) escape, and (c) if possible, reverse the situation.

Both of us roll to an inverted position. I Pull back on the stick to start the dive and she- well, I don't know of those machines of her legs work or how she steers with them. I determine the position of our attacker, behind us, our left. We both begin rolling toward the attacker. In other words, if he's to your left, push the stick to the left. As we both build speed, cut power to idle and I extend my airbrake. The attacker follows me and Wilcke down, at this point he overshoots and allows us to take a shot.

The BRRT of the M61 is not only accompanied by me muttering "Guns, Guns, Guns." But also by the spluttering of the Redhead's MG.

Our rounds stay true and the enemy is ripped apart.

"Good hits, Good hits."

We both roll over, looking for more targets.

Our little rotte screamed in for an intercept of 4 enemy aircraft chasing 3 of the women, I fire an AMRAAM just before getting too close to, the little shits seem to have learnt to turn in to try and avoid my missiles.

Too bad the AMRAAM just corrects itself and slams into him. Dipshit.

I switch to my Sidewinders and fire 2 of those off, both hitting their respective targets and Wilcke gets the last one with her MG.

"Good Shooting." I complement her.

I get a response in the form of stony silence, well fuck you to ya stuck up bitch.

And then the world turns into fire and brimstone as No. 2 engine bursts into flames as a laser flies through it, decompressing the continuous explosion that is the Turbofan and igniting the fuel tank above the engine

I roll the aircraft inverted and fling it down, gunning for speed to put the fire out while also pressing the button labelled 'Don't fucking use, or I'll kill you and fuck the body.' Probably from my Crew Chief, I almost punch the button, feeling a mixture of happiness and amazement that he DOES really care about me enough to warn me in advance.

The moment the button was pressed, a mix of Carbon Dioxide and Monoammonium phosphate foam is dumped into the engine, extinguishing the fire raging inside but also making the engine unusable and irreparable without a large overhaul.

I also dump the fuel in the alight fuel tank, effectively putting it out.

I'm not really paying attention though I'm looking at my hands.

They're covered in blood, turns out I'm bleeding fucking badly, I got hit by the shrapnel from the explosion, it's a good thing I'm a 20 something year old man, full of testosterone and adrenaline.

The Adrenaline was probably nulling the pain, but it still fucking hurt.

I was reaching the edge of the fur-ball, well you couldn't call it a fur-ball anymore, the women had pretty much moped up everything.

"Wilcke." I croak, "I've been hit, and I'm injured, bad, I need a place to put down."

"Roger." She says passively, as if I didn't save her fucking life. "Your best bet is to put down at Magliocco Aerodrome." I grunt in response and she continues to talk, "two of my girls will escort you there, Miyafuji and Lynnette…" I kind of phase out of the conversation at this point, too invested in trying to rip the first aid kit open while flying a damaged jet, from the corner of my eyes I see two of the women float down beside me. Once I'd successfully ripped it open, I started bandaging myself, it's hard, mainly due to the shrapnel being peppered all over my body so there's no main wound, I main just wrap my bandages around my legs and waist. I don't use the morphine though; the pain will keep me awake and alert.

By the time I'm done my cockpit is pretty much covered in blood and I'm apparently half way there.

"Hey." I call over the radio "I'm having trouble concentrating here, you know, staying awake, could we, could we talk?"

A moment later I get a reply "Um… I suppose."

"Who are you?"

The girl on my left beams at me "I'm Miyafuji Yoshika!"

The girl on my right, "I'm Lynette Bishop." She acted nervously.

"I'm Chris Campbell, USMC." I gasp, it's getting hard to breath now, might be something to do my oxygen, might have something to do with my lungs, I don't know but I compensate for both by lowering my bird's nose, I'm at around 8000ft now.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what are you?" I got a confused question like "What do you mean?" from one of them, I'm not really paying attention to who is talking, just listening to the voice, keeping me awake.

"Well, I've never seen an outfit like you, and defiantly never seen the machines on your legs."

"Well." Miyafuji says cheerfully, "They're called striker units they're a mix of Mechanical and Magical technology and they allow us to take flight and fight the Neuroi."

"Wait, Wait, Wait, Magic, like Wizards, Warlocks and Witches? And what are Neuroi?"

This continues for some time, I ask questions and she answers, she talks about her home, her experiences among other things, I'm half convinced she's a hallucination, but I don't stop until the airfield comes into view, the way she's happy to talk about it suggested that it was therapeutic for her.

Luckily for me, the runway is nice concrete and the squeak of the tires is the only real opposition I get during the landing.

I slump back and close my eyes, my hand slips around the canopy release

I'm interrupted in my sleep by a blinding blue light.

"Heh," I mutter, I thought when I go to heaven there's a white light…

XXX

Phew, that was a challenge to write, I would've written more of the dogfight but I'm on a time limit, so sorry about that and I was kinda pushing my limit at the end. I apologise for any spelling mistakes.

EDIT: Corrected some spelling mistakes, currently working on chapter 2, apolgies if this sets of your follow thingys.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the Reviews, favourites and follows!

I don't own jack diddly shit.

Now let's get down to the reeeviews:

Empty Promise: NATO and CSAT will be at each other's throats, as for the amount of shit they can fling at each other, well, there's an East Wind device at Tanoa right and I'm sure theres a few others out there. *wink* *wink* I just spoiled the story there… fuck I should remove this.

Darkstar01FTW, MrWolfDog and Xboxgorgo18: Thanks for the positivity!

New Universe Returns: Continue? Yes, well hopefully

XXX

Grady growled, He'd just been informed that one of his Marines had been captured by an unknown force, worst of all his CTRG liaison had just told him that their Intel suggested the this 'East Wind Device' could be a teleportation device… could be. 'Fucking Spooks' he thought to himself, he'd never liked working them, from the CIA to CTRG, always so secretive, shrouded in mystery and the other bull.

But that was beside the point, as the current leader of the NATO element here, his priority was to finally secure Altis, last night they were pushed out of Pyrgos and the remains of the AAF and CSAT forces were huddled in the north east of the island and a final push would be made today, General Armstrong told him, that the 111th Infantry Division and the 7th Armoured Brigade would push and destroy the remaining forces on the Island. His second was to re-establish contact with NATO MEDCOM If possible, which was becoming less and less likely, even Malden, the AAF controlled Island to the west that had been captured by NATO earlier in the month had gone silent, and if _in_ another world, well, introduce themselves to the locals.

Grady didn't want to believe that he was in another world, but it was hard to disprove it, the lack of contact with MEDCOM, the strange contacts with aircraft on their legs and not to mention the flying Sub.

The reports from the dogfight were hazy, the camera feed from Hornet-1 had been cut off halfway through and contact was lost but the signal from the tracker implanted in the F-181 suggested that the bird was parked on Scilly and Hornet-2 was escorted by Eagle flight to the USAF base on Stratis, and was being debriefed there, he'd expect a report in an hour or two. The contact ended with both the NATO forces and unknowns withdrawing after the Submarine was destroyed.

Grady had briefly entertained the idea of sending the CTRG Team currently attached to the Taskforce, Group 16, to go track down and rescue the Marine, but his liaison to the Team told him that was a no go, the CTRG team was currently going to hunt CSAT supply lines to the AAF in Libya. Ignoring the fact that this had gone over Grady's head, this presented a problem to him; either let sensitive technology fall into the hands of possible enemies, they did initiate contact with Hornet flight, or send a Marine or Army detachment to secure the Fighter and rescue the pilot which would lead to a bad formal contact in this new World.

 _30 minutes before: 0.25 Miles off the coast of Libya, 0820 hours, 2035 / 08 / 10._

"Pantheon 1-1, This is Pantheon 2-1, we're approaching the insertion point over, awaiting orders, over."

"Roger that Pantheon 2-1, Continue to insertion point and wait for us to get position, over."

Pantheon 2-1's lead switched off his radio, he and his team were approaching the fishing port of Tobruk, where intel suggested that CSAT was using fishing boats to smuggle weapons to the AAF.

His CTRG group, group 16 was assigned to destroy the fishing boats and blow up the port's warehouses, then they were to RV and get picked up by a Ghost Hawk.

CTRG, otherwise known as the Combat Technology Research Group, is a special forces unit with groups assigned to duties ranging from raiding supply lines and capturing or killing HIVs, to anti-cyber operations.

His 4-man detachment was part of a pincer attack, both teams would sweep from the east and west, checking the warehouses. He and his team were currently on a zodiac, having launched from the HMS Victorious 10 minutes earlier.

The Zodiac hit the beach with a resounding thud, and all 4 men jumped out, 2-3 and 2-4; Artemis and Eros kept their eyes down range while, 2-1 and 2-2; Zeus and Poseidon dragged the Zodiac up beach to prevent it from drifting away.

"Right." Zeus said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Tobruk is less than a click away, let's go, I'll take point 3,4 cover our flanks, 2 cover our back."

After a short jog through the high dunes of the Sahara Desert they arrived at Tobruk, slinking down to a prone position, Zeus crawled along to the top of the last dune, minimising his profile, he peered above the dune.

"Pantheon 1-1, this is 2-1, seeing a lot of Military Traffic."

"Uhh, Pantheon 1-1, I've got visual of a German Puma." Zeus stopped, being tapped on the shoulder "Uh wait one."

"Heh, Zeus, that's not the most insane thing they here, have a look in the harbour." Poseidon pointed out, handing Zeus his Rangefinders.

"Jesus Christ." Zeus muttered, "1-1, we've got a Battleship in the harbour."

"2-1, 1-1 No shit?"

"1-1, 2-1, Yeah."

"Roger, wait one."

Pantheon 2-1 waited atop the dune for a few minutes.

"Pantheon 2-1, this Pantheon 1-1, we've got traffic from the Vic," 1-1 said, referencing the Victorious, "They're on the horn with the USS freedom, their Flyboys just intercepted unknowns, Grady thinks some weird shit is going on, we have a new objective, gather intel."

After radioing an affirmative Zeus slung himself over the dune and slid down it, after landing at the foot of the dune and crouch ran to the Puma, which was parked on a road not far from the dune.

Despite the quickness of himself and his colleagues they were still quiet, quiet enough to hear the action of a Rifle cycle. A suppressor only reduces the sound of the muzzle blast. In the case of supersonic rounds, a bullet traveling through the air is still quite loud as it generates a sonic boom, and even the action working at full speed isn't exactly quiet. The lack of the crack told Zeus that either the target was close enough for the round not to break the sound barrier, or the rounds were subsonic, both suggested its user was close by. Years of experience and training had taught Zeus the differences in weapon sounds, the dirty rasp of an action was distinctive to Zeus.

"Shit." He hissed, peeking out from the cover of the Puma, only finding a crumpled body on the floor and a lack of the one responsible. "Poseidon, Eros, you're on over-watch. Artemis with me." Zeus growled as he moved forward, activating his ENVG-II goggles, and scanning the environment with the thermal vision for any sign of movement or thermal signatures before moving to the body.

The body was wearing a light khaki coloured uniform, as Zeus reached him and turned him over, he could see the damage, half of the body's head was gone.

"Boss."

Zeus looked up as Artemis threw a bullet casing his way, catching it swiftly and holding it up to his eyes, Zeus read the headstamp on the bottom of the casing.

"Shit." Zeus said, scrutinizing at the headstamp, "It's CSAT, Chinese by the look of it."

Zeus returned to the corpse, leaving Artemis to radio the find in, picking up his weapon, a MP 40, an ancient weapon by the standards of the 2030s. slinging it over his shoulder, he inspected the dead soldier closer seeing the words 'Afrika Korps' emblazoned on his uniform's lapels and a palm tree on the bloody remains of his hat, this didn't surprise Zeus, considering that he had seen a BB in the harbour and the fact there was a WW2 era armoured car behind him.

"Right Pantheon 2," Zeus announced, "we're to continue with our mission; however, watch out for CSAT tier ones."

The 4-man team grouped up again, heading further into the settlement but as they continued there were no patrols to come across.

But there were bodies, lots of them, from lots of different nations as well, the brodie hats worn by some suggested British, or at least commonwealth forces and M1 combat helmets suggested US forces; However, all this equipment was standard in WW2 and would never be seen on the modern battlefield.

All this just further confused the Operators but never the less they continued with their mission.

"Right." Zeus growled, moving into an alley, "Split up and search for clues." And After getting a few chuckles from the Operators at the Scooby Do joke. Usually splitting up would be a bad idea on the battlefield; however, these were CTRG Special Forces, trained by the SAS and Israeli Spec Ops, they were some of the best in the world.

Zeus silently crept into a warehouse, drawing his sidearm, a suppressed P09, its manoeuvrability and ease in CQC favoured it in the building, while sliding his SPAR-16 over his back, to join his newly acquired MP-40. The warehouse was stacked high with crates. Tentatively he lifted one of the crates' lid.

'Huh,' Zeus thought, looking down at the Panzerschrecks stacked in the crate 'Not the AT Titan launchers I expected but…'

He continued to search the Warehouse before coming across a desk strewn with papers and after a minute of searching, the only things he could find was a cargo manifest and someone's Diary which contains nothing of interest; However, his search was interrupted by sounds of a struggle outside, slinking to the door, he peered out, seeing eight red glowing eyes leaning over what seemed to be a Teen in Military uniform and body armour with what seemed to Zeus to be the armoured tracks of a Matilda II he had seen in books on Military history at Sandhurst. The figure's hex camo arms wrapping around her neck and constricting.

All the questions about the girl were put out his mind as he sprinted towards the Viper Operative, He was killing a Kid and that was what Zeus found disgusting and what sprung him to action.

There was no battle cry, no feral shout, Zeus simply ran at the CSAT Soldier, leaning down and drawing his combat knife from his boot sheath, by the time he drew his knife was almost upon the Soldier, bringing his now Knife free leg up to knee the Viper's Solar Plexus, directly hitting the bundle of nerves, leaving him stunned, CSAT never had the same care for body armour as NATO has, preferring Ballistic Weave Uniforms. Zeus then left a trail of stab wounds up from the poor bastard's abdomen up to his throat, leaving a bloody trail of carnage up his body.

The Enemy Operative's body slumped to the side, leaving a shocked little girl gasping for breath. Zeus lent down to help her, patting her on the back.

"Who… are you?" She gasped between breaths.

XXX

Yes, I know, I'm a knob

I'm leaving it here.

I apologise for the any spelling mistakes, comma splicing and me capitalising every fuckin word like a bitch.

I know I've now got two chapters with cliff hangers, but this is what I can get out before Christmas and I wanted to get something out before Christmas to show I'm continuing this.

Not going to lie, I'm not very good at filthy groundpounder combat, but I tried my best.

Merry Holidays and i hope you get something good for Christmas.

Reviews, ideas, anything would be appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the wait ma boiz. Some personal shit came up and I'm an incredibly slow writer.

I'm adding In an additional disclaimer alongside the 'I don't owe shit' one, I don't believe any of the views my characters have, I'm a great believer in not having writer's beliefs their writing. I just tend to make my characters into arseholes. Also, I'm pretty shit at writing in general.

XXX

AAN World News

US LED NATO TASKFORCE DISAPPEARED; ALONG WITH ENTIRE ALTIAN ARCHIPELAGO

By Mark Cole, AAN Updated 9:03 AM ET, Mon August 11, 2035 | Video sources: CNN, DOD, BBC, CBC/CBMT, FOX

Yesterday the US-led NATO taskforce dispatched to Altis has disappeared 2 days after the ground force invasion and a day after the USN Aircraft carrier, the USS Freedom arrived in the area.

[Image: USS Freedom and her escorts leaving the Norfolk Naval Base]

The Pentagon confirmed that the battlefleet had disappeared after losing communications on the early Sunday morning and a P-8 recon mission confirmed the disappearance of the archipelago.

[Video: The Secretary of Defence conducts a press conference on the disappearance of the Freedom and her battle group]

CSAT hasn't claimed responsibility; however, several terrorist groups have, the claims being dismissed by the Secretary of Defence as preposterous. He also expressed his condolences to the families of the missing Servicemembers.

[Image: USS Freedom, now with European Warships attached, transits the Gibraltar straits]

The DOD, MOD and other Military organisations involved in the task force have published a list of the missing forces:

Naval Forces:

USS Freedom

USS Blue Ridge

HMS Ocean

USS Tripoli

USS Port Royal

USS Leyte Gulf

USS Higgins

USS Ramage

USS Winston Churchill

USS Benfold

USS Ross

HMS Daring

Forbin

SPS Santa María

HMS Portsmouth

Bremen

HMS Victorious

USS Alexandria

USS Seawolf

USS Jimmy Carter

Plus 20 Auxiliary and Supply Ships

(1 Aircraft Carrier, 1 Command Ship, 2 LHAs, 3 Cruisers, 5 Destroyers, 3 Frigates, 4 Submarines)

Air Forces:

43rd Fighter Squadron

44th Fighter Squadron

47th Fighter Squadron

8th Fighter Squadron

2nd Aviation Battalion

VFMA-314

VAQ-129

VFA-2

VFA-14

VQ-3

VAW-113

HM-12

HSM-46

825th Naval Squadron

(Entire Force Adds up to 256 Aircraft and 3372 Personnel)

Ground Forces:

111th Infantry Division

7th Armoured Brigade

22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit

Plus, another 15-armed forces elements from NATO countries

(Entire ground force adds up to 20200 men.)

The disappearance of the task force is another blow to NATO power in the Mediterranean, the first being the annihilation of Task Force Aegis, which you can read about in this report: The Mystery of Task Force Aegis. The Incident has military and scientific experts baffled. The all Experts contacted by AAN could not explain the phenomenon, one geological expert said, "Islands do not disappear overnight, especially when a fleet is anchored 40 miles off it." And a Military Expert said, "There is not a weapon in the entirety of human history that could do such a thing."

[Image: Zumwalt and Stout leave Malta Harbour, escorted by Maltase Tugs and Patrol Boats]

The US have dispatched the two destroyers stationed at Malta (USS Zumwalt and Stout) to investigate the tragedy.

(AAN's Mark Cole, wrote and reported from Malta. The Associated Press, BBC, ARD, CBC, FOX and UPI also contributed to this report.)

XXX

My eyes flutter open and I'm confronted by the redhead from the dogfight.

And she's glaring daggers at me and a gentle jingle above my head informs me that I am handcuffed to the bed I'm on, also a

I look Wilcke, and then the handcuffs "Kiiiiiiinnnnky." I drawl, putting on a Southern accent.

Wilcke opens her mouth.

"I mean, you could of at least of bought me dinner first."

There's a long torturous second as Wilcke's mouth continues to do a good impression of a goldfish. And then the woman next to her starts laughing like a maniac.

Wilcke's face ripened into a crimson red and furrowed her brow as she stormed off.

This only encouraged the woman next to her, finishing after a while with a short of breath.

"I've got to admit pilot." The woman said between breaths "You've got balls but, alas down to business, why did you fire at us?"

I stiffen at this "Standard Rules of Engagement." I reply, "Only engage unknown combatants if fired upon. You fired upon me, I followed the rules."

As she takes this in I observe her, she's wearing an IJN uniform, which is weird considering the IJN was dissolved in '45 and if she was IJN she'd be trying to cut me into sushi with her katana. Then again, the same could be said for Wilcke with her Luftwaffe Uniform.

"Anyway," The woman sighed "from the look on your face you've got some questions, but they'll have to wait. And Pilot… Thanks for saving my friend, even if you're the one who put her in that situation."

And with that, she turned on her heel and headed out of the Infirmary.

Yeah, I'm not dealing with this shit, not today. I'm going to sleep.

I'm still exhausted despite being fully healed, still don't know how probably should have asked that but…

Not dealing with this shit.

It's surprisingly easy to get to sleep, despite the odd position my hand is in with the cuffs. The residing combat fatigue is overwhelming.

XXX

A sharp jab to my ribs wakes me, interrupting my sleep.

Oh, it's the Red Queen herself, Wilcke, this time joined by a ginger and a brunette, the latter with a very serious face and the other with one of complete bemusement.

Wilcke leans over me to unlock the cuffs.

"Put your Shit on pilot," The Brunette dumps my gear on the bed as I swung my legs out of the bed. "we've been told by our command to escort you to an Island called Altis."

I grunt as I inspect my now clean flight jacket. "How long was I out?"

"A day."

I grunt again as I pretty much rip off the hospital gown I was dressed in, Wilcke looks away, flushing, not like she could see much with my Ranger panties on.

"Like what you see Wilcke?" I say dryly with a smirk.

"Shut up you Idiot and get dressed."

I grin, I could get used to fucking with her and I put my shit on, too used to quickly putting on flight gear ready to scramble.

I pick up my helmet, inspecting it for damage, finding nothing but the flaked White and Red paint of where shrapnel had hit my helmet, I had one of my ex-girlfriends paint my helmet in the style of the skeleton pilot from the song Do the Evolution. After a moment of messing around with the strap on my harness, I strap it to my waist.

I would also ask a shit ton of questions like; "How the fuck am I alive?" and "Why the Fuck are you wearing a Luftwaffe uniform?" But the rare showing sensible side of my brain says no, this shit is way above my pay grade.

"Right let's go."

As I step out of the building, followed by the trio of girls. the cool and fresh air of the Mediterranean at dusk, much preferable to the stuffiness and smell of antiseptics in the Infirmary.

The Airfield wasn't exactly visible in the dark, the setting sun casting the entire base in dark.

"To the Jeep," Wilcke ordered

I followed Wilcke to the Jeep, a Willys MB, its engine running with a nervous looking Infantryman in the driver's seat. Wilcke sat in shotgun and turned to the ginger.

"Shirley, take the rest of the wing back to base, me, Trude, Sakamoto and Erica will escort the pilot."

"Roger that!"

And with that, the Ginger walked off to one of the nearby hangers and Wilcke directs the poor grunt to one of the hangers on the other side of the aerodrome.

The hanger was about as heavily guarded as Fort Knox or Area 51 for that matter, MPs with Thompsons and M1s were posted around the entrances and a Sherman was sat around the hanger's side.

We jump out of the jeep and following Wilcke's lead follow her into the hanger.

Dim Yellow Lights illuminated the hanger, empty with the sole exception of my Wasp.

I overtake Wilcke to inspect my aircraft, cringing slightly at the wooden ladder leant against the airframe for access to the cockpit, gently lifting the ladder off and putting it on the floor, I unlock the hand and foot holds as well as the boarding ladder and pull myself up and am amazed to see the lack of blood.

"We cleaned it up, Charlotte kept gagging."

I nod in acknowledgement and boot up the F-181's systems, unhooking my helmet and putting it on and plugging it in.

The HuD lights up like a Christmas tree and starts displaying engine warnings, no shit.

Despite the damage to Engine No.2, No.1 is fully operational and luckily the nerds at Boeing knew that because the USMC or USN usually operates out of Carriers, newly built or short runways and made it so the F-181 can fly out on one engine to get repaired.

I should be able to get off the ground, even with the remainder of the combat load I was slinging.

I run a system diagnostic and check while I pull the Helmet off and continue with a visual Inspection

Engine No.2 was a wreck but luckily the shrapnel only lanced through the main part of the airframe, leaving most of the control surfaces and fuel tanks untouched.

Wilcke follows me as I complete my walk around.

"How do those work? Lt Yeager wanted to know." She asked pointing to one of the AMRAAMs hung on one of the hardpoints.

"The missiles?" She frowns "The rockets?" she hums an affirmative.

"Well, the big ones, the AMRAAMs use active radar to lock onto a target and the Small ones" I point to one of the Sidewinders mounted on the wingtip "they use Heat seeking to find their target."

I climb back into the cockpit and slip my helmet back on.

The System Diagnostic confirms what I already knew, No.2 is fucked without a complete overhaul,

"Can you make it to Altis?" Wilcke calls up to the cockpit, her accent slipping, having trouble pronouncing the Greek word.

"Yeah, should have enough fuel and I should be able to get off the runway." I grab a map from one of the little net pockets in the cockpit and hand it to Wilcke, "Altis is around 60 odd miles from here."

Wilcke nods in acknowledgement and turns the map over to see the world map.

"Wow, I didn't want to believe what HQ told at first but its true." She looks up at me "You're from another world."

I grunt I'd thought as much.

"You seem pretty non-pulsed about this."

"I've seen weirder things." I chuckle "In Somalia, sleep deprivation was a real problem due to 'flyin CAP and anti-piracy patrols all the time, side effects included hallucinations, sleeping on your feet and the literal inability to understand written words." I think back "Hell when the Commander of USPACOM came over for an inspection of our Carrier most of us were convinced he was God."

She chuckled a little. "What happened in Somalia?"

"Eh, it's a long story, started in the 1990s with the Somali civil war, around 2000, when foreign ships exploited the absence of an effective national coast guard by invading the fishing grounds. Fishing communities responded by forming armed groups to deter the invaders by hijacking freight vessels. But this grew into a lucrative trade."

Time passes quickly after confirming our route and Wilcke files the flight plan and I start up the F-181 properly and do the pre-takeoff checklist, which is mainly just checking flight controls and control surfaces. A little later I get orders to taxi to the runway.

I met by my escort mid taxi, in their weird striker things.

As tower clears us for the runway, I take pole position and radio the girls "If you don't want to get hit by the jet blast I'd take off in a Vee formation."

I get a series of affirmatives in the form of mic keys.

"Hang on for a minute, going to go through the Checklist."

I pull out the proper Takeoff checklist and start going through it:

Altimeter/Avionics—Set & On

Belts—Secure & EPs Reviewed

Ballast—As required

Controls—Checked & Trim Set

Canopy—Closed & Locked

Cable—Connected

Dive Brakes/Airbrake—Closed & locked

Direction of Wind—Establish

Radio—On & Checked

"Right, already."

I slowly increase engine power, I don't want to tax the engine any more than I already had, although No.1 hadn't been damaged, odds are that it was stressed from me punching the afterburner constantly.

Despite the lack of a second engine, the F-181 easily outpaces the prop engine strikers.

"Passed V2."

V2 is one of the most important parts of takeoff, it's the point of no return, it's the speed that if an Engine (or the engine) was to fail, I'd still be able to continue with the takeoff.

And finally: "V1, positive weight, rotating."

At around 200mph the Wasp takes off the ground, It's black exterior blending into the night.

"Gear Up."

I switch on my Nav lights, I doubt my escort would be able to see me without them.

The Flight is decently short but boring, so I start thinking on the ways I'm going to be shouted at.

For one I may have delivered US tech right into the hands of our possible enemies. Secondly, I told them how our weapon systems work and lastly, I put an 80-million-dollar aircraft in a crippled state to save one of our possible enemies. A knot starts to tie in my stomach, oh shit I'm going to have this shit pinned on me.

Wilcke Interrupts my thoughts "Pilot, shouldn't you be radioing your forces?"

I grunt an "Affirmative." Switching to Freeway's Radio Frequency.

"This is Hornet-1 calling Freeway, you there Big Brother?"

"This is Freeway, welcome back Little Brother, we've been expecting you, we've been told you're with the little girls?"

"Say again, Freeway?"

"The Witches, girls with strikers."

"Affirm."

"Roger that, I'm assigning you callsign Grizzly 1 to 4, continue to point Zulu and then to Echo, Altis AFB, callsign Vulcan will talk you down. Recommend getting the girls on the channel for landing directions."

"Grizzly-1 to Freeway that is Zulu to Echo then sext with Vulcan."

"Freeway to Grizzly-1, readback correct."

"Attention Flight," I say, talking to the girls. "Radio channel switch to 256.5."

Within a few minutes the Altis mainland came into few, its highest peak, Thronos and its castle sticking out among its sister mountains and the orange glow of the Mediterranean sunset, It was also near Oreokastro, a site of a recent supposed war crime by CSAT, I don't know the whole story, something about a CSAT air strikes and AAF killing a bunch of civis.

"Vulcan to Grizzly-1, We've got you, continue to Echo and then turn to 023 and then you're clear to land on Runway 44L."

"Grizzly-1 to Vulcan, Affirm, see you on the ground."

As Vulcan started giving a holding Patten to the girls, I gently bank my aircraft to the right going for a typical standard Patten approach.

The landing is a bit dodgy, I bounce once, cringing slightly, I pray to god that anyone from the squadron didn't see that, I'd never hear the ending of it

"Bit Dodgy there Grizzly-1, taxi to hanger 5, one of the prefabs at the north."

"Roger."

After completing my taxi, I park in the hanger, deploy the ladder and climb down.

Shit.

Dylan is standing there, staring.

He looks pissed.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"What. Have you done to my plane?"

He grabs me by ear.

"You little shit, why do you always do shit so unbelievably retarded?"

He points to the plane, "what happened?"

"Well, as you know, I got into a scrape with that flying submarine and its parasite fighters."

He lets go. "how many kills?" His voice respectful, pissed, but respectful."

"3 and one shared, how did you know about the Witches?"

"You know that CTRG group, group… 45 I think. Anyway, they were attacking CSAT weapon smugglers in Libya, turns out when we 'switched' or teleported, whatever, worlds they ended up thwarting a CSAT attack on some high-ranking generals gathered there." He chuckles, "You should have seen Grady's face when he got on the comm with General fucking Patton, I was there in the CiC."

I grin, "So. What now?"

"For you? Shit cleaning duty for a month. For us in general? Grady and Crossroads are in a meeting with Rommel, Monty, Ike and Patton now, didn't you see the C-47s and Ju 52s coming in?

XXX

I'm quite sorry about this Chapter. As you can probably tell, I'm not a very good writer. To be honest, aerial combat is my bread and butter.

The reason this took so long was, well I had no idea how to write this part, much like how I have no idea how I'm going to write the next part.

Now excuse me for yet another 6 months of alcohol abuse and writers' block.


	4. Chapter 4

WOOOO. Another update within what 5 Months? Madness! I've actually planned out what I'm going to do now in terms of plot, so, hopefully the chapters will be done quicker.

I forgot to do the reviews last chapter, my apologies, so let's do both chapter 2+3 reviews now.

MrWolfdog: Well, I think I just avoided the questions and destroyed the tension.

and Chiki briki, Thanks, I will.

Empty Promise: While CSAT would probably miss the support, I'd think they'd fight a guerrilla war with NATO, and the allies for that matter.

KodokSangar: I'm part of the latter to mate, I'm planning for Shirley to talk about to our pilot this chapter. As for CTRG, yeah, they're arseholes, well at least group 14 (Miller's team). I'm planning for a few chapters for Kerry and Miller down the road. As for the other East Wind devices and well, it's a lot easier (probably not cheaper though) to just make an entire island/Military installation disappear than to try and take it out via conventional means (runways and deep bunkers are hard to take out, even with modern bombs and missiles).

As for a list of factions:

BLUFOR:

NATO

ALLIES

FIA (Now the Altis government)

INDEPENDENT: (independent in the sense they're not allied with anyone.)

ION

NEUROI

OPFOR:

CSAT

Remains of the old AAF

SmokeTinyTom: Thanks, my man.

Demon-255: I wouldn't say potential, but thanks, I do agree that more Arma fanfics would be nice, its a good basis for a story.

As a Note i should say I'm stunned by the amount of follows let alone favourites, thanks, really.

I don't own shit.

XXX

 _30 Miles off the coast of Altis, USS Freedom, 0450 hours, 2035 / 08 / 17._

Deep in the bowels of the USS Freedom I face off with my ancient foe, it is not the Chinese, the Russians, nor the North Koreans, not even those fucking aliens.

IT IS THAT FUCKING CLOCK.

With a swift grab and throw, I lob the clock at the wall.

And with the sweet sound of the clock disassembling itself against the wall, like 20mm rounds hitting a tank's hull, I try and get some more sleep.

After 10 minutes I give up go to the mess for some food, its 0500 odd – dark hundred hours, who sets an alarm clock for that time? Fuck you, Dylan, it does not boot anymore.

Luckily for me, the Wardroom is relativity deserted and I grab a tray of the shit that the navy calls food. While Marine food is usually worse than squid, for us Marine Aviators it is usually better, much like the chair force, 5-star hotels and fresh coffee and beer, my kinda way to fight a war.

The week has been weird, to put it lightly.

It'd started off with a meeting between Allied High Command, most of which was classified and above my paygrade, 'bout 2 days after the meeting, the first Liberty ships made its way into both Pyrgos and the much larger Kavala harbours, bringing food and medical aid to both our NATO forces and the Civilian populace.

NATO had not been Idle either, most of the past week had been spent reinforcing the island's defences, arming, and training the brand new AAF, well Altis Defence Force, the FIA had reorganised into an actual functioning(kinda) government. We'd even showed a few Allied researchers around the carrier and airbase, showing them all our fancy tech. Nearly all personnel had been forced into going to briefings and seminars that told us about all the info we needed to know about this world as well as answering all the dumb questions we marines could think of, 'No calling a Fusonian a gook it's still racist and it's a derogatory term for a Korean, not a Japanese person .', 'No, don't call a Gallian a cheese eating surrender monkey, even if they don't get it.'.

As for me? I've been forced into position as XO, due to my seniority in the squadron, I'm the oldest, surprisingly, most of our other vets were meant to catch up with us at Altis, due to the abrupt need for a carrier task force at Altis, most of the aircrews were on leave; It was a mixed blessing really, the lack of men, but the surplus of spare aircraft to replace or cannibalise. The Squadron's original XO, Captain Stenhouse was one of the lucky few who wasn't aboard or in the area when the-

Well that's another issue entirely, we grunts were given no explanation to why or how we got to this world, everything about it was classified; However, Grady had promised to get us back to our world in one piece, and he was our Admiral in Korea and led the carrier group through some tough shit then.

The XO job isn't that bad, to be honest anyway, got to move in Stenhouse's old crib, much nicer than the 4-man or 8-man rooms that the rest of the squadron lived in and the paperwork was something to do other than play on the Rec rooms Wii. I've been grounded for the last week, Plane is still in the shop, not that I've been down to see it, pretty sure my crew chief still wants to crucify me.

"Oi Christy."

I look up from spearing what is apparently mac and cheese, its Rocket, apparently forgetting that I'm his superior.

"Well hello, 2nd lieutenant." I say, emphasizing the 2nd, "What can I do for you today?"

"Major wants you on Flight Cont."

I grunt and pick myself up. "You can eat that," I say pointing to the mostly intact breakfast.

Jeff literally leaps over the table for the food and I cock my head and stare.

"What? I joined the marines for the food."

My mouth moves, but no words come out and after a moment I give up and head to the flight deck.

Getting lost in the USS Freedom is incredibly easy; it being a 120k ton aircraft carrier and the fact it's as big as 4 football pitches. however, having around 4 years of experience on board her, getting around is a piece of cake and within 5 minutes I'm climbing up the tower and up to the top deck where the primary flight control is.

Climbing up the final ladder up to the top level, I'm met by Admiral Grady and my CO, I fire off a salute and they return it.

"Hello, Lieutenant." Dylan greets, his voice radiating smugness, "How are you."

"… permission to speak sir?" I say turning to Admiral, he nods

"I hate you."

Dylan's smugness became a physical entity.

The Admiral looks at Dylan and then to me and audibly sighs.

In an Instant, Dylan's Smugness turned on Grady, supported by a Shit eating grin from me, no matter what feelings we Muhrines might have about each other, we all stand united in the face of the enemy: The Navy, Semper Fi motherfuckers.

"Fucking Marines." The Admiral muttered under his breath, "Right anyway, the five-oh-first are boarding today."

I raise an eyebrow "Sir, I thought we weren't allowing sparkles on board, on account of being a war crime?"

Grady grimaces and nods, the fact that the allied forces had used children, children had upset pretty much every NATO unit, the recent uses of them in North Korea and in African Civil wars come to mind. "I know." He sighed. "I know, but apparently the other carriers we're going to be operating with don't have space, I've been told that they're an elite unit and they're critical to the operation's success."

"Operation sir?"

Grady grins "Briefing at 1000, Sparkles expected on board at around 0800."

"And Lieutenant, you might be wondering why we called you here for all this, you haven't been punished enough." Dylan chimes in, smugness coming back.

"No," I say, already knowing

"Yes."

"No."

The Admiral rubs his eyes. "Gentlemen please, yes Lieutenant I've assigned you as the 501st's liaison for their time here, it is for the reason that you have more experience with them than any other here, now if you will excuse me." Grady walked off, clearly having his fill of Marine for today.

"That reminds me, me and Grady have agreed that your uniform is ill-fitting for an XO, I know you turned down your promotion in Korea but I'm afraid you can't turn it down this time." He saluted before walking off. "Captain."

Asshole.

XXX

My Options are:

[ ] - Hide.

[ ] - Jump into the sea.

[ ] - Also hide.

I'm trudging down the tight walkways of the Freedom, grumbling to myself, my new slivery Captain insignias sitting on my collar and shoulders, looking at the details of the girl's stay, Room location etc.

It's around 7 hundred hours. What to do?

I could swing by the hanger; however, even after 2 weeks, the Chief still wants to skin me alive so maybe not.

Do some more paperwork? No.

Urgh.

After a while, I decided that fuck it I'd go visits my Crew Chief.

I circle back to the hanger and walk past the F-181s and F-35s parked in the bow section.

"HELLO CHRISTOPHER."

He is suspended on his Black Wasp throne, sitting on both engines of an F-181, surrounded by his minions, cronies, and tools – lots of tools.

The Ultimate Boss.

With a swift hand, he picks a nearby wrench and lobs it in my direction.

It misses by a large margin, flying over my head and electing a yelp from the other side of the hanger.

He holds his head high and takes a distasteful sniff at me.

"YOU HAVE DISPLEASED YOUR KING, HAVE YOU BROUGHT A TRIBUTE?"

Jackass.

Fun fact: Ground Crew are no different from the Intel boys, you buy doughnuts or even better; beer, they'll love you.

I bow lowly, "'Fraid not your majesty; however, I shall buy you the finest of meads once on shore leave!"

He considers this and then nods.

"VERY WELL."

He jumps off his 'throne', his band of goblins, gremlins and trolls dissipates and walks up to me. "Wassup Chris?"

I shrug "Well Mac, I was woken up at dark hundred hours by the Major, told I was going to be a liaison to the Sparkles coming 'aboard today and I still have to do a shit ton of paperwork."

The Chief grins "Welcome to the world of senior NCOs and Officers."

I grunt and point to his 'throne', also known as my F-181, "how's she doing?"

"You're lucky that the engine needed an overhaul soon anyway, plus the abundance of parts. Replaced the above fuel tank and armour plating, the other engine was fine enough, some of the fan needed replacing but nothing else." He grimaces, "Also replaced the plexiglass canopy and some of the damaged interior, How the fuck did you survive that by the way? There's was enough shrapnel in the cockpit to rebuild some of the blades, not that you'd want to."

"Fuck if I know, Sparkly magics apparently, don't ask how I don't know."

"Speaking of Children, Christ how desperate our counterparts be?"

"You haven't read or attended the Briefings? Apparently, they have these magic powers that can create shields and enhance weaponry so a 7.7 becomes a 20, Mike Mike."

He gives me a stare saying that he hasn't had the time for Briefings, a statement supported by the dark bags under his eyes, him smelling like a pigsty and looking likes he's aged 30 years.

We part ways and I check my watch it is almost 0800, may as well be a good little liaison and meet my charges on the flight deck.

XXX

The carrier shifts as it turns into the wind to accommodate a landing as I walk onto the 2nd story balcony on the tower.

"Sir." An Ensign on lookout duty turns to me, saluting "First one is about 3 odd miles out." He hands me some binoculars.

Peering down to the stern and bringing the binos up to my eyes I see them, 10 little dots holding in a traffic pattern with a C-2 presumably carrying spare parts and the ground crews bring up the rear, one starting her landing.

She comes in high, ready to cut power and drop onto the deck, listening to the LSO as she corrects herself and slams down between 1 and 2 wires and catching 2.

She's the 501st's XO, recognisable by the eyepatch. She follows the deck crew's instructions and powers down on one of the elevators.

The landings continue with most of the old girls getting either 2 or 3 wire, the younger ones, however; score dreadfully, the two who escorted me to Magliocco get both get 4 wire – I put this down to not being used to landing on a carrier. Finally, the C-2 hits the deck, scoring a 2.

Handing the Binoculars back the Ensign and after getting directions from the Air Boss for their berthing in the hanger, I head down there, and I find them in their berthing being helped to store their weaponry by the armourers.

"Ladies," I announce myself once they're almost done packing up their gear. Wilcke gives me a not you again look that I ignore, trying to be as professional as possible. "I am Captain Chris Campbell, I'm to be your NATO Liaison during your time aboard the USS Freedom, if you'd follow me I'll give you the tour de boat."

XXX

3 floors below I show them their other berthing, their quarters in other words.

"it's a bit small." The redhead, Yeager if I remember correctly complained.

I snorted, "Welcome to life on a Navy boat, you're lucky that we're at around 3/4 capacity at the moment, otherwise you'd be hot bunking."

"Anyway, let's continue." Next stop was the Wardroom, where they'd be eating, but I stopped at the Aircrew's Rec room on the way.

We're met by the god-awful, off-tune singing coming from inside.

"WWWWHEEEN THE WAR HAS BEEN WON, AND OUR MARCH HOME BEGINS, WHAT AWAITS HAS NOT YET BEEN REVEALED!" Q-Tip and Viper were drunkenly singing, beer bottles in hand. I make a note to interrogate them later about said alcohol - and demand they share it.

"Well." I begin, "This is the rec room, we've got some games, TV, radio and some coffee here… Moving on."

"WHAT WAS WON? WHAT WAS LOST? WILL OUR DEEDS BE REMEMBERED? ARE THEY WRITTEN IN STONE OR IN SAAAAAAND?"

I spin on my heels and continue the tour.

"Who are they?" Wilcke asks behind me as I try and get as far away as possible from the rec room as fast as possible.

"Squadron mates." I say, "And don't worry I'm going to torture them for where they got the booze later."

The rest of the tour is uneventful, I show them the wardroom, medical bay, quarter master's store and the ready room.

With the tour ended I turn to them, "If you get lost, ask one of the crew and if they're not senior brass they won't bite."

I roll up my sleeve, almost 10. "Right, we've got an Ops Briefing in around 10 mikes." I look at Wilcke and Sakamoto "So let's go to the Briefing room."

XXX

The USS Freedom's Briefing room was packed full of its commanders' COs, XOs, and damn near anyone else who needed to be briefed on the upcoming operation. We arrived late, having gotten Q-tip and Viper to show the rest of the ladies around the Rec room and gotten Jeff to keep an eye on themselves, this was a two-fold idea, one it'd give the two troublesome members of the squadron something other than drinking and let me know where they were so I could rain down terrible judgement upon them.

Dylan caught my eye and gestured to the 3 empty seats next to him.

Bastard.

I plod over to Dylan's seat, followed by Wilcke and Sakamoto.

"Have a fun time?" Dylan asks as I sit down.

"Go fuck yourself," I reply under my breath.

He gave a grin and looked over me to address the two other officers. "Hello, I'm Major Dyson, Commander of the VMFA-314."

"Wing Commander Minna-Dietlinde Wilcke."

"Squadron Leader Sakamoto Mio."

Dylan's eyebrow raised a millimetre and was about to speak but was interrupted by the Admiral at the front of the room.

"Good Morning ladies and gentlemen." He starts, coughing a little to get the room's attention.

"Now as you know, we've allied ourselves with the Allied Powers and with the Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe: General Eisenhower, Admiral Mountbatten and General Bono we've come up with a plan to secure the Mediterranean from the alien force known as the Neuroi."

"I know some of you are asking why we've joined this war, and I can understand your trepidations about giving your lives for a conflict that you were never meant to be part of but as members of the United States Armed Forces, Forces of NATO and acting under the jurisdiction of the United Nations, we will not and cannot allow this Xeno Menace to take innocent lives, protecting the innocent is after all the entire reason we were deployed to Altis."

A few nods and mummers meet this statement.

"Anyway, the plan is to at least, first take the Iberian Peninsula, this will have 3 consequences." He holds out 3 fingers. "One: to put the pressure off the supply convoys to the African front, two: it allows another way for our allies fleets to attack the enemy in Italy - Romagna and Venezia without threat of being under air assault from Iberia, three: It allows us to take troops off the Southern French border for redeployment elsewhere."

"I also know that the idea of taking what would be 2 entire countries in our world daunting to a force of around 30,000 men; However, our enemy doesn't act like a normal one. As I'm sure you've read in the various reports and briefings our enemy uses so-called 'Hives' a synapse in their network, we eliminate that, we knock their units in the area. And we will be with support, a friendly carrier fleet will join us – and before you ask, no it's not the 'Grey Ghost', it's the USS Ranger, along with a few Brit carriers and a landing force to rival Operation Torch. Our first objective will be taking Gibraltar, the rock and the surrounding bay, allowing the Gibraltar straits to be traversed at least a little more safely and allow the troops on the ground to be supplied more easily."

XXX

"Dead Island?"

Jeff looked over his shoulder at Lucchini, currently watching Viper show Perrine and Gertrude how to play Monopoly and looking intensely bored.

"Dude she looks about 7."

"What about Ace Combat or Hawx?"

"No."

Q-tip grunted in frustration, the simple fact as grown(ish) men they didn't A. have a need for or B. a want for children's games.

"Well, we do have that game."

"No, we took an oath, it should not see the light of day." Q-tip feigned shock and horror.

"But they'll eat all the food otherwise," Jeff whined, looking over his shoulder at Erica Hartmann, the apparent ace of aces currently pillaging the Rec Room's fridge for food.

"Fine," Q-tip growled, pulling a box out behind the TV's cabinet, and searching through one of the draws for the key.

The Ark of the Covenant opened…

XXX

As the briefing ended, Dylan made a 'come hither' motion and I followed him into one of the many hallways of the 'Freedom.

"Minna-Dietlinde Wilcke." He stated.

"Yes, that is her name."

"Wilcke."

"You've finally lost it, you've finally gone senile."

He smacks me upside the head, "Wilcke you idiot, it's the name of a German Ace in the Second World War."

"Oh… Shit, what do we do."

"Me and Grady agreed that they shouldn't know… what happened in our world."

I hum in agreement, the shock of knowing what happened in our world would- well we wouldn't know what they'd think, Shock? Disgust?

"Did you or Grady tell the rest of the Squadron or you know, the entire this?"

"No, I was going to sit them down later today, but Grady has sent it down the command chain around the ship and fleet, let me see the details about the girls."

I dig the, somewhat crumpled documents about the witches from one of my trouser pockets and after a moment of scrutinising he hits upside the heat.

"You're a fucking idiot, I'd get it If it was Wilcke or Barkhorn, but fucking Hartmann and Yeager, fucking Hartmann and Yeager.

"Fuck you," I reply "I've got shit to do, now if you excuse me I've got to go kill Q-tip and Viper for somehow getting alcohol on this godforsaken boat."

XXX

So, the plan has been- well planned and the first stage of the operation will begin next chapter.

not sure if I went overboard on the humour, probably did.

What game is it?

Kinectimals?

ET?

Bad Rats?

But for now, let me retreat back into my cave for around half a year.

Sorry for any Spelling mistakes and yes, I'm doing this every chapter because I'm British and I can be legally punished if I don't apologise.


End file.
